


The Entire Solar System

by Lonelyfairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Self-Doubt, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sick Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 05:13:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5696329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonelyfairy/pseuds/Lonelyfairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As an ex-army doctor with quite a handful years of experience as the world's only consulting detective's partner, John Watson had seen a fair share of heartbreaking or frightening things. More than enough for a few lifetimes, if he were to say so himself. In fact, he had seen so much he thought nothing could ever render him speechless anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Two years into his relationship with one Mr. Holmes, John realized he had been completely wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Entire Solar System

As an ex-army doctor with quite a handful years of experience as the world's only consulting detective's partner, John Watson had seen a fair share of heartbreaking or frightening things. More than enough for a few lifetimes, if he were to say so himself. In fact, he had seen so much he thought nothing could ever render him speechless anymore.

 

Two years into his relationship with one Mr. Holmes, John realized he had been completely wrong.

 

 

 

 

A few days ago, a suspect threw his knife, the only evidence linking him to the serial killing case they were working on, down the Thames. And despite it being one of the coldest days in January, Sherlock, being the idiotic genius he always was, decided that it was a good idea to just jumped right down the freezing river to fetch it. Surely, the evidence was found, the case solved, and the serial killer caught. But almost as sure as that, John's sometime-not-so-smart lover ended up with a cold bad enough to keep him grounded to the bed in a state that John swore wasn't even qualified to be called half-conscious.

 

And that was the start of how John Watson discovered the most heartbreaking thing in the world.

 

 

 

 

Sherlock's reaction to his sickness had started simply with half an hour's worth of him complaining, cursing, moaning and sulking about the fact that his body felt like lead, the room was on fire, and his brain felt like a ball of wool. Then it seemed he had outdone himself and started to doze off. While John actually enjoyed listening to his sweetheart's voice, he was glad Sherlock finally gave in to his body's demand and rest.

 

A few quiet moments later, Sherlock turned on his side, burying his face into the curve of John's waist, throwing an arm across John's thighs, and started mumbling something unintelligible. To anybody else it would have looked like one happy scene, but the twitches on Sherlock's lips and the way he curled in upon himself, his arm clinging just a little too tight to John's leg was all the evidences the good doctor needed to deduce that his lover was having a fever-induced nightmare. John reached out and ran his fingers lightly through those black curls of hair in an attempt to make the sick man feel at least one small bit more comfortable. And for a while, John thought it worked.

 

That was until he heard that faint, sobbing voice whispering against his skin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sherlock hated being sick.

 

He hated how it made him feel like a useless piece of flesh. He hated how his brain becomes dull and heavy, as slow as molasses. He hated how it confined him to his bed. There were cases to be solved, and lying about with his brain not functioning was anything but useful.

 

What he hated most about getting sick, though, was how it teared down the walls he had taken years to build, leaving him raw, vulnerable, and—worst of all—sentimental.

 

To Sherlock's highly functional brain, fever could do what intoxication would to a normal person's brain. It didn't make him completely unaware of what was going on, nor did it turn him into something completely different. It simply brought out what he would never let out to see the light of days if he were fully in control of himself.

 

Feeling his lover's gentle fingertips grazing his scalp, Sherlock tried to relax into the warm scent of John Watson that was surrounding him. But instead of making him feel better, it somehow stirred up one of his darkest fear. The words left his mouth before he knew it.

 

 

 

 

 

"John, when are you going to leave?"

 

For a split second, John had to admit he thought Sherlock was chasing him out of the room. What with the detective's tendency to be annoyed by his thoughts and all. But there was something different in the way Sherlock said it.

 

The army doctor looked down to his lover, and what he saw in the younger man's eyes confirmed his thought. Those gorgeous eyes were clouded with pain, and—even as slow as he was—John could deduce what Sherlock was talking about. So he loosened up the detective's arm around his tights, and eased himself down until he was looking Sherlock right into the eyes.

 

"You know I'm here for as long as you'd have me, Sherlock. I know you're sick, and you most probably are feeling terrible, but you took your medicines and I promise you'd feel better after some nap. So, could you try not to let that amazing brain of yours disturb you with all these crazy thoughts, huh?" John brushed his lips lightly over his lover's damp forehead, before moving down to kiss the tip of his nose. "Get some rest, Sherlock. I'll be right when you wake up. I'll always be. You don't ever have to worry about that for even a second, alright?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

John's lips felt wonderfully cool on his skin, and deep down Sherlock knew he shouldn't be worrying. John was the most loyal man he had ever known, and Sherlock knew better than anyone else he would never make a promise unless he really meant it. At the very moment, though, it seemed his overheated brain was somehow incapable of comprehending such important fact.

 

"I am nothing but a freak, John. A highly functioning sociopath, at best." Sherlock mumbled out. His guilt-ridden voice muffled by the soft texture of his lover's jumper. "I'm nothing but my brain. No, even with my brain, I'm nothing. You should have known that. Even all those idiots know, John. That's why they treat me like one. You're not half as stupid as they are. There's no way you wouldn't have noticed"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John’s eyes widened up in a mix of surprise and anger the second he heard those words. He knew what people tend to say about Sherlock. All the mean terms they used to refer to his genius, the way they looked at him as if he does not belong there, ever. He had been there when they treated this brilliant man as if he does not deserve to be respected, simply because he was different.

 

It had always hurt John and he had made it his personal mission to correct those harsh words and to reason them out of the cruel treatments they have for Sherlock. So far, he thought he had done quite a good job, at least with the MET. But he never really thought about what Sherlock must have been through prior to this. No, he had never allowed himself to. He had always told himself that Sherlock would have deleted it, all the useless information it was, or he might never even noticed it to start with.

 

But then again, John Hamish Watson was not a genius. He sees but he rarely observes.

 

Sherlock never corrected those words, not because it didn’t bother him, but because he believed it was true. He never said anything about how they treated him because he thought he deserved to be treated that way.

 

John's stomach felt sick at the thought of that and he swore he could hear the sound of his heart crumbling to pieces. Because, really, there was no way such ideas could have been put in Sherlock's head easily. It must have taken years of having those words thrown at him and years of being treated like he was unworthy for Sherlock to think there were enough evidences to prove such things true.

 

"They are wrong, Sherlock. They are all terribly, terribly wrong. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," John paused to gather his breathe, his lips trembling. "I'm so sorry they said those things to you, dear. I'm sorry they made you believe you are unlovable, unworthy, freak or whatever it was. None of that is true, and I'm sorry you’d had to go through that. But don't you ever believe even a single word of that, Sherlock. Not even a single word. Don't."

 

Moving closer to give his lover a soothing kiss, though he was not quite sure whether it was Sherlock or himself he was trying to soothe here, John felt tears sliding down his cheeks. He didn't even notice he was crying.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sherlock traced his finger lightly over the wet trail on his lover's cheek. He hated seeing his good doctor cries. It tore him apart knowing he was the reason for those tears, and he hated himself even more for that.

 

He thought of all the times he had hurt his John.  


All the times he had made the doctor cried. 

_But I'd hurt you_

_I don't deserve you._

_I'll never be enough for you_

_If only I was a woman._

_If only I was not a freak._

_If only I knew how to deal with people,_

_how to stop being a sociopath,_

_how to act like everybody else._

_If only I was normal._

 

 

 

"Stop! Stop that. Don't you ever think anything like that, ever, okay? You don't need to be any of that, love. You don't need to be anything but who you are. I wouldn't have loved you any more or any less whether you're a man or a woman. No. I don't give a damn if they say you're a freak, Sherlock. For god's sake, they don't even really know you. They have no idea how brilliant you are! And I don't care if you don't know how to deal with people. That's my area, remember? That's what I do." John pulled Sherlock in and gave him one sweet, long kiss. Letting his body said what his words failed to, hoping he would somehow be able to convinced his amazing partner of how loved he was, how much he meant to him. "I chose you, Sherlock. I chose you and I'd always choose you. You! William Sherlock Scott Holmes. You posh, eccentric, wonderful, annoying git. You amazing, genius, arrogant fool. You sentimental, crazy, romantic brat. I chose you with every single bit of that. With the skull on the mantel piece, with the bloody body parts in the fridge, with all the track marks and the scars, with all your sharp angles and edges. It's all who you are. And yes, it's not perfect, but none of us is, love. What matter is that I chose you, Sherlock. I don’t give a damn what they think. Damn it, I don't think it'd even matter what you think, here. I don't regret choosing you. Never did, never will. It's one of the best decisions I've ever made in my life. And I don't care if it's going to take every single second of the rest of my life, but I'm going to prove it to you. I'll show you I meant every single word of this. I'll show you _you_ are enough, you are more that I could ever asked for. And I'll be here, Sherlock. I'll be here with you and we'll grow old together and you'll raise your bees and keep on making a mess for the sake of your experiments and you’ll never stop deducing every last bits of my thoughts even before I know to think of it. And I would still be there shouting, grumbling, and most probably cursing at all the stupid things you do. And I would still love you all the same. You better keep that in that mind palace of yours, Sherlock. Keep it in the room with my name. Make it the first thing you think of when you think of me."

 

John's head started spinning with the anger he felt towards all the people who dared do cruel things to Sherlock, the pain it caused him seeing how fragile, bruised, broken, and how strong and brave this man was, the love he felt for this sweet, insufferable genius of his. And it was so much he started to sob.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"It's a wing, John." Sherlock said after a long stretch of silence, it could have been minutes or hours John would never know.

 

"What?" John asked, feeling a little dumbfounded. Trust it to Sherlock's brain to kick back into full function the second he started to feel better.

 

"Your place in my mind palace, of course." Sherlock gave John a quick glance, the 'do keep up' at the end of the sentence was loud and clear without having been said. "It’s not just a room, it’s the whole wing."

 

 

 

 

"Sherlock…" John smiled so hard he feared his face will split in halves. He never had a reason to doubt the feeling Sherlock had for him. Self-proclaimed sociopath as he was, the man had his ways of showing how much he cared for John—however unconventional they might be. But still, what the detective just said made his heart swelled as if he was a sixth form girl. “More relevant than the Solar System then, huh?”

“Oh seriously. Use your brain, John. I thought you’d have known it by now.” Sherlock snapped.

John rolled his eyes and let out a soft sight. He should have known better than to expect such sentiment from the man in front of him. But before he had a chance to come up with some sharp retaliation for that remark, John found himself being pulled into the taller man’s arms, with Sherlock’s soft curls tickling the side of his face and the man’s still-way-too-hot nose and lips buried in his neck. Then he heard the soft, almost shy voice whispered.

 

“Of course you are more relevant, John. _You_ are my entire Solar System.”

 

 

And for once in his life, John Hamish Watson realized sometimes it’s not the heartbreaks or the frights that made you feel like your brain had stopped working. Sometimes, it took only a few unexpected words to render you utterly speechless.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago and for some reason I can't remember, I left it just like that in my hard disk. So I found it a few days ago and, against all my better judgement, decided I'd finish it and post it even though school is starting tomorrow and I am nowhere near ready.  
> I blamed my cable TV for their all-day Sherlock special.


End file.
